Second Chances
by LadyVaderWrites
Summary: When the Apocalypse hits, Will Draco damn himself or rise above?  Written before I'd read book 5 I think, so call it AU.


_Dedication: For Angel, my beta and bud extrordinaire_

Harry Potter hit the wall, slammed sideways by an explosion of magnificent white and blue, his breath leaving him in a gasp of awe intermingled with his pain, ribs creaking and protesting even as he lurched back to his feet, casting without thinking, breathing or checking for his opponent's position in the room.

His voice cracked out, whip-fast and piercing, its force sending Draco Malfoy rocketing backwards, heels over head, frozen, blinded by ice and malice as he struck the opposing wall, splinters and shards of frost erupting from him as he dropped, seething to the floor.

It had been like this for an hour, spitting, snarling, hurling incantations faster than breath could fuel them onwards, each fixed upon the other, relentless in their discord. In all honesty it had been this way for far longer than an hour, to be accurate it was distinctly closer to six years, slightly less if you accounted for that split second, that briefest lapse, that endless agonising moment where Draco had actually wished for Potter's friendship.

That memory in itself was more than enough to send the shivering Slytherin back upright, the magic scorching through his fingertips and out of his wand faster than his mind could process his need to conquer his foe.

He watched with a dull sense of satisfaction as the distension hex struck his adversary, Potter stiffening then crumbling. His body hit the floor in an extended mass of arching throat and spine, splayed limbs and fingers as he cried out, softly, body trapped, spread taut against the floor as each slender bone and sinew stretched to their fullest extent.

Malfoy's brow lifted as he watched the Gryffindor's spine arc so high that only the crown of his unkempt head and the very tips of his trembling pointed toes rested upon the ground, lips drawn back across his teeth as though in great pain. This, as Draco knew, however, was far from true. Having experienced this particular hex himself he well remembered the sensation of intolerable tension before that incredible release, every vertebrae popping back into alignment, every muscle quivering with force before the endorphins rocketed through the now enfeebled body, leaving its victim depleted and gasping, defenceless. All in all, it was an entirely intense sensation and, mused the Slytherin as he moved to stand, legs akimbo over his weakened and breathless foe, grasping Potter's fabled wand between slim nimble fingertips, an entirely successful experience altogether.

He smirked, satisfied for once, as Potter's vision cleared, muscles pooling back against the wooden floor beneath him, moaning softly as the exertion mixed with the curse's after-effects took their toll. Malfoy waved Potter's wand at him, smiling cruelly, voice dripping with mockery, "Comfy down there, are we, Potter?"

Harry's bleary vision cleared long enough for him to take in the unnerving flash of too white teeth above him, the expression feral and triumphant as he shakily tried to sit upright. Draco's stomach clenched with excitement, eyes drawn to the fine sheen of sweat now breaking over Potter's body, the distinct tremor in his forearms as he tried to raise himself, body failing him even as his spirit rebelled. Potter was defenceless, literally at his mercy, a problem indeed for everyone's favourite boy wonder as Draco was nothing if not merciless.

The only question now was 'what' would Draco do as he found himself in the position the Dark Lord yearned for.

Before the question could be met with any kind of consideration, a dreadful rumbling spread throughout the entire room, shuddering its way up through the Slytherin's elegantly shot feed and displacing his poise, room shaking with an almost omnipotent force as Draco now fell, as helpless and horrified as his companion at the turn of events.

Slowly the tremors subsided and an odd stillness settled over the room, the air too stationary for comfort as the two boys lay waiting, just waiting.

There was a low rumble, a long continuous keening of the skies and Draco lay back, listening intently before slowly paling as his gaze fell to rest on the brunet's face before him. Potter was pale at the best of times, ruddy with fury most of the times they came head to head, but now a slow amber glow filled his gaping face as Draco sat, fixated by the flickering in the lenses of Potter's stupid glasses.

"Potter?" Unwilling to turn, to face the wide expanse of slowly crackling air behind him he ignored the window, voice clipped and tense with query.

"Malfoy…" Potter murmured, transfixed, "The sky is burning..."

Draco slowly turned his head, letting the warm wash of colour saturate his skin even as his gaze remained slung low, unwilling to let his eyes fill with that same horror that now dwarfed the green of Potter's. Even as he let that wary gaze creep upward, his body started with fright, echoing the mirror motion of the Gryffindor as Dumbledore's quietly powerful voice rang resonantly about the room.

It is my sad and unfortunate duty to inform you all that due to unforeseen circumstances and a rogue comet cascade that this, our world, is ending. Fear not and remain calm, chaos will not help you and even as I speak we are setting up the portals to allow passage into the next realm, where we shall be safe and begin anew. This is not the work of Voldemort and neither, I regret to say, can it be prevented, and therefore panic is useless. Remain exactly where you are at the time of hearing this statement and the Professors will collect you all within the next few minutes. No one, I repeat no one, will be left behind. The passing of this world is infinitely regrettable but we shall recover. So stay strong and calm my children, and this will all be over shortly.

The headmaster's voiced died out, suddenly, as though his vocal chords had abruptly been severed, the awful ringing silence in its wake all too quickly filled by the endless roar and crackle from without.

Draco sat in silence, head bowed as he attempted to understand what it was the old wizard had said, hands icy cold even as the steady wall of heat gathered close to the window.

The end of the world, death, ended now, so soon, too soon, so much left unaccomplished, unproved, unconquered…

The Slytherin's sinuous grey gaze rose slowly to rest closely on the Boy who Lived, now standing, eyes still drawn to the blazing world being casually destroyed just beyond the castle's magically sealed casement. "It's not true…" he whispered, lips the vaguest stumble of motion in his numbed expression, "It just can't be."

Draco's fingers tightened to the point of pain, knuckles white, their grip ecstatic on their prize, feeling the certain burn of the feather within.

_Potter's wand. I have Potter's wand. _

Something whispered deep within and Draco found himself standing also, mind alight now also with bright licks of destruction, but not his, oh no, so far focused beyond his own certain demise now, only seeing 'his', his, his, Harry, Harry Potter, Potter, the hero, the foe of his father's master, the defenceless man-child before him. The fire was coming, consuming sky, life, land and hope, but something within knew that the boy before him was never meant to end like this, oh no, not Harry Potter… he had to be defeated, crushed, 'conquered' and Draco would see that his fate was sealed thus, even if he had to die alongside him.

"Potter."

Slowly that wide green gaze slid round to light upon him, backlit by fire and fury, hair seemingly ablaze with the light now filling the room, Gryffindor colours oddly enough, how dreadfully fitting for Potter's 'blaze of glory'. He watched, satisfaction seeping in with that awful heat through every pore till he imagined he must shine with it. Potter knew, could see the letters of Draco's intent etched into his face, posture, eyes, skin with wrath and malice.

I'm going to destroy you.

The words were never spoken, but the drop of Potter's gaze to his wand, clutched so tight in those tapered, cruel digits, the paling of that now gold and amber hued skin as their eyes met again said that Potter knew only too well just what Draco intended.

"Malfoy…" It was neither a whimper nor a desperate plea yet the way that last, soft syllable floated from Potter's graceless lips, there could never have been a clearer entreaty.

Oh yes, Draco smiled slightly, Potter knew.

He raised his wand, not too fast nor too slowly, wanting Potter to 'feel' the satisfaction the moment afforded him, feeling the heat at his back, the growing roar as that wall of fire crept up to the castle walls.

"Any last words, Potter? It's not like I'll be around to tell anyone, but somehow I feel the moment warrants it. So c'mon then, 'hero'…. Make it good."

Harry blinked slowly, face tight with heat and that quiet yet angry disbelief you feel when informed of a loved one's sudden passing. Draco smiled at the image, he imagined Potter had a lot of experience with that particular scenario. A sudden pang shot through him, visions of his mother, screaming, standing on her wide balcony, long white robes alight with fire and damnation, screaming, screaming for him…

He bared his teeth, eyes gritty with the fire and smoke and his mother crying for him, "Out with it, Potter, if you hadn't noticed we don't quite have all day."

"Please," Potter's eyes were dark, weary and bottomless, boring into Draco's, "Don't do this."

Draco laughed, "Oh, good one, Potty, I 'do' hope you weren't intending to use that on the Dark Lord when he came for you… or no, wait, maybe you're right. Such a pathetic whimper in the face of absolute power might have proved amusing, maybe he'd have…"

"Some absolute power."

Draco narrowed his eyes, glaring as he pointed his wand directly at the bridge of Potter's glasses, "What?"

"Some all-powerful Dark Lord… You 'do' realise he's most likely already dead, don't you, Malfoy?" Harry waved a tired hand towards the flames now licking at the window ledge, "We're all dead, Malfoy, he's dead, you're dead, I'm dead… we, " his voice cracked and Malfoy told himself it was the smoke that made his eyes water in sympathy with Potter's now over bright gaze, "It wasn't supposed to be like this… I, we're not meant to end this way."

"And what way is that, Potter? You at my mercy or the world in general, because at this point I should say they're somewhat beyond your heroism…. You can't help them, Potter," he laughed again, a sharp bark cut short as the heat and smoke burned acrid at the back of his throat, "You can't even help yourself."

"And you?"

Harry's voice wavered as the wall began to crumble at the windows edges, heat creeping past the charms and wards, realisation of their fate now showing on his pale and disillusioned face, eyes fixed on the blond's, the silver eyes spilling the first of their glowing charges down his cheeks, voice harsh with fury in the light.

"You were never meant to help me, Potter, never."

A shudder ripped its way through Harry's stomach, oh god he didn't want to die like this, not this way, so pointless, so wrong, so soon, too soon…

"So…what? You're going to just kill me and then stand here to wait to burn? Is that it? Kill me then die alone?"

Harry's usually calm baritone shattered into a sob and Draco swallowed its echo in his chest, dropping his arm back to his side before stepping closer to the shaking boy, voice as low as he could manage in the deafening midst of the fire storm.

"You know, for once, Potter, you're absolutely right."

He made to wave and flick, utter something, anything of the hundreds of death causing curses he'd read about in his father's library, his mind already deciding on the classic, the only choice in this case, but before the thought could even reach his lips, wand point now pressed tight to the Gryffindor's breastbone, something in him hesitated.

"Goodbye, Potter," he whispered dully and felt his teeth chattering despite the inferno.

"Malfoy." Potter spoke softly, his voice a low plea, a hot breath on Draco's already too hot face, a tear suddenly racing from those oddly fragile green orbs, streaking through the soot.

Draco couldn't breathe.

"Malfoy."

With a hideous shrieking, ripping sound the protective charms were rent asunder from the shock of flame into the confined space, blasting both boys forwards, Draco colliding with the wall where the door had once been, now forsaking them in their time of need, heat blistering him as he felt the flames roar into the room.

Harry's head reeled with the impact of the blast, rocketed across the floor into the corner where he sat, dizzy and sick, singed and shaking as he watched Malfoy drag himself back to his feet before rising himself, body still drained by Malfoy's earlier curse, leant heavily against the wall as the room wavered and burned before his eyes.

His wand was gone. Not only his, but Potter's too, Draco cursed and rose, wondering if somewhere Lord Voldemort felt a rush of power at the other wands destruction before perishing at the same flickering fingers now tonguing at Draco's feet. His watering eyes searched out the brunet, leaning unsteadily against the wall, eyes torn between Draco and the fire now burning its way rapidly through the room. He watched as Potter's mouth moved, eyes imploring as they flickered back and forth once more, his scorched, blackened hand lifting and falling at his side.

'Malfoy,' Potter's mouth called, silent in the spit and splinter of the dying room. 'Malfoy.'

Staggering now, wincing at the smell of his own burning hair, Draco stumbled and fell, intent on reaching Potter, had to get him, get to him before… before….

With a crash Draco landed, palm slamming into the hard hot wood behind Harry's head with an unheard cry of pain, the heat sapping the strength from him even as he crumpled against the slightly smaller boy. Sixteen, his mind said numbly, echoing in the smoke burning through his eyes, You're only sixteen, he's too young, you're too young, it isn't meant to be this way.

Potter's hand was at his waist and as he looked up to meet the Gryffindor's eyes, tell him he won, he won now make it stop, stop, stop please, Draco watched the bright white explosion behind him, reflected in Potter's glasses, the heat and light creeping, rushing closer, closer… so close.

He turned his head, the flames tickling at the floor, walls, air behind him, calling his and Potter's name in cruel crackling hisses only to find Potter's hand gripped tightly at his jaw, arm slipping round his waist, tight, so tight, holding Draco to him.

"Don't." The word was a broken command and Draco could feel the word blistering the air as it travelled to him, Potter turning his face to Draco's, eyes on him and only him, seeing the other boy clearly in the smoke for the first time in six years, voice crumbling into quiet sobs as the world turned hot and close, "Don't, oh don't look, don't look, don't look…"

A sob worked its way from Harry's slim chest to Draco's, faces pressed near and sliding wetly with grief and heat. "Don't, don't, Malfoy, don't," he begged and, slipping his fingers up over his jaw to turn his face away, further yet from this cruel end, Draco heard his own last word from a million miles away.

"Harry," he whispered and closed his lips over the startled, damp mouth, clinging tight as he felt the brunet's arms tighten in return, kissing him back, sweetly, tears cool and pure between them, swallowing their mutual sobs as the flames licked at the entwined pair… closer… closer… burning.

"Finite Incantatum."

Dumbledore.

Draco felt Potter's hand pressing reflexively at him in alarm, that quiet voice echoing, crackle gone, roar silenced now as Draco lifted his head just far enough to hear the soft, wet separation of their mouths.

Harry blinked his eyes, sore and red and disbelieving as he stared back into the dazed silver irises before him, before darting his gaze over Malfoy's singed shoulder, still curved about him, an almost wall of cotton and flesh curled downwards, shielding him, over to meet the slightly amused and abashed gaze of his mentor.

"My apologies gentlemen." Draco trembled. "It is policy for the school to undergo an Apocalypse drill every few hundred years, although in this case I feel that Hogwarts truly outdid itself. Almost every student and staff member followed the correct procedure with, I'm afraid, only two notable exceptions."

Slowly the boys unwrapped their hands and arms, each looking at random things, the curve of Draco's elbow in his singed shirtsleeves, that smudge of soot on Potter's collar bone, until finally they stood a comfortable two foot apart, both trembling with too much, just too much of 'everything' to feel themselves.

Finally Harry found his voice, summoning it up from the depths of his stomach with the last breath he'd sucked in past the flames... or was it Draco's? He cleared his throat.

"Sir? Was… was this a test? I mean… of me… and, and Malfoy?" His voice was etched with smoke, tears, fright, and an odd tremulous note Draco thought he'd last heard mumbled against his lips.

Dumbledore smiled benignly, eyes twinkling with something akin to mockery as he raked his gaze over the two boys, gesturing offhandedly. "Of course not, Harry, my boy. As I told you, it was merely time for the school's Apocalypse scenario drill… I understand it would have been a great deal worse to endure said drill within this room which, I must say, followed the spells directions beyond the necessary parameters, but then, as I'm sure you know, neither of you should have been in here in the first place."

Draco's head shot up, wavering on his unsteady spine as he looked into the meaningful gaze of his father's most despised antagonist. He shivered at the calm, detached calculation there. His father was wrong, Dumbledore was not the fool they took him for. He swallowed, something close to nerves in his stomach, "Would the room have hurt us then, sir, I mean had you not intervened, might we have been injured?"

Dumbledore shook his head, chuckling gently, "Oh no, my dear Mr. Malfoy, there are certain precautions woven into the very air of the castle, and nothing truly harmful could have occurred here." His eyes twinkled again, annoyingly knowing behind his bifocals. "And that reminds me," he reached into a cavernous pocket within his robes, "Your wand, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco's spine tingled again, the ice from earlier growing in tendrils on his skin once more as the suddenly seemingly omnipotent Professor handed Potter his wand in turn.

"I must say," the impervious Headmaster continued, his voice grating and yet soothing to both shaken boys, "I count it as a great show of faith that neither of you tried to break free of this room via magical means. You were told to remain were you were until summoned and you both did exactly that, so, at least on one level, I will be able to congratulate you. It is," he twinkled again and Draco felt the steel behind the glimmer, "Highly dangerous to cast any spells or hexes in here of a largely powerful nature, due to the rooms chameleonic qualities. So you see, gentlemen, you are to be congratulated for having the sense to recognise that any such powerful magic would have been both deflected and reflected back at the one who cast it forth. Perhaps I may be able to award you at least a few points to counter the minuses after all?" The Headmaster smiled and looked at Draco for just a moment longer than he dwelt on Harry. "Well done," he murmured with quiet approval and a blush rocketed from Draco's scalp to his toes, his eyes flickering shut as the headmaster casually strolled back out the now open doorway.

Draco's hands clenched convulsively at his sides, his wand trembling between taut fingers, nails digging in over and over, imprinting themselves in the smoke stained skin.

He knew. The Headmaster had seen and he knew, had seen Draco's inner turmoil, his hatred, his fear, his loathing, the desperation, the kiss, ah god, the clinging, sobbing, breathless kiss…

"Malfoy?" A tentative hand pressed briefly somewhere high between Draco's shoulder blades and the blond lurched round, spitting, hissing, snarling, flinging his wand to the ground and seizing Potter by his shirtfront and throat, slamming him back against the wall.

"Don't speak to me," he snarled into startled and alarmed, red-rimmed green eyes, "Don't touch me. Do not say my name, I don't want you to so much as look at me, don't, don't…" He ground his teeth together as his body reported the presence of Potter's fingers digging into his biceps, the clasp sure and strong despite the shudders rocking them both, "Don't even think about me, you fucking little… and don't you fucking 'dare' say anything to those bloody groupie's of your's, you, you so much as 'breathe' a word of this and I'll, I'll…"

Oh god. Oh god, he'd kissed Harry Potter. He'd had the chance to destroy him, end him, complete the work his father so cherished, and practically had given his life to stay and hold him, kiss him, die with him. He could have killed him. But he didn't.

"Oh god," he whimpered and then he was driving forwards, Potter's fingers tightening to seemingly pull him closer and he was crushing his mouth onto Potter's, lips ground back against teeth, sobbing breathlessly, tears burning in his eyes again, shame and self-loathing flooding through him, if his father could see him, if his father only knew…

Potter tasted of smoke and blood and tears and his tongue pushed tentatively, wet and somehow cold against Draco's and it was all Draco could do to not crush Potter into the wall with the need to be closer, deeper inside him.

Draco pulled back, gasping, breathless, desperate for the separation as well as the chance to steady himself and plunge forwards once more when his eyes were drawn to the tiny action of Potter's small pink tongue tip slipping out to soothe his abused, battered lips. Draco paused, his eyes flickering up to Potter's, green eyes still wary and fearful, but now heavy lidded and somehow needful and then all Draco could feel or know was the soft exhalation of air, his name the smallest gasp, the barest plea from Potter's lips.

"Draco," Potter whispered, "Draco."

There was shame in Potter's eyes, but also need and want and… fear.

Draco shuddered and for the first time in six long years knew exactly how it felt to be the Boy Who Lived, had lived it his whole life, living up to impossible expectations, lost in the demands of predetermined events, never getting that which is most wanted.

Harry Potter wanted to live. And, seemingly, he wanted Draco Malfoy.

Draco tore himself backwards, stumbling as Potter's eyes shuttered and dimmed with the mortifying disappointment Draco had come to know so well. Draco shook his head, torn apart with wanting to drag Potter before his father and show him his discovery, that the boy who lived was just a boy, just and yet so much more than that, that he'd wanted Draco and despite everything Draco had been trained to believe in, beneath the shame of his actions, it hurt Draco so much more to let go of Potter than it did to hold him. His father would kill him, and Potter, too. Tears swam in Draco's eyes and with a stifled sob Potter suddenly lurched forwards, off of the wall and past Draco, eyes as full of bewilderment and hurt as Draco knew his own must be, reaching out trembling fingers, unaccustomed to begging and therefore overcome with loss as Potter took to his heels and was quite simply gone.

Draco sank to the floor. He rather thought he might throw up, but numbly decided against it, the events of the past half hour dancing past his eyes, stomach clenching and mind reeling with horrified revelations.

He could not kill Harry Potter. He'd had his chance, and instead of seizing it, he had somehow twisted his beloved hatred into something worse, something needful, crying desperately within him for the boy it'd clung to, wept and kissed with. He could have killed him, he didn't, and if there was one thing a Malfoy never got it was second chances.

That was it then. Draco would not and could not kill Harry Potter. That time had come and gone, leaving a new and frightening time stretched out ahead and for a brief moment, Draco shivered with genuine fear.

Then, lifting blackened fingers to gently scrape his knuckles across the tender skin of his kiss-bruised lips, he wondered if Harry Potter believed in second chances.

Fin.


End file.
